Returning to the banks of the Oueme River felt like picking up a conversation that had never truly ended. The river had more to say, and I was ready to listen. This second visit brought me deeper into the daily rhythms of a community that has built its entire existence around this waterway, and what I witnessed was nothing short of extraordinary.
The first thing that catches your eye when you approach the riverbank is the palm oil processing site set up directly on the sandy shore. Mounds of bright red and orange palm fruits spread across the sand like a vivid painting, glistening under the heavy West African sky. Black clay pots balanced on stone fires, sealed with aluminum foil to hold the heat, bubble quietly as women and families work the harvest. The smell of wood smoke and fresh palm oil hangs in the warm air. This is not a factory. This is a kitchen built by the river, under the open sky, where the Oueme itself provides the setting for one of Benin's oldest and most vital agricultural traditions.
Standing there with my feet planted firmly on that warm laterite ground, I realized something important: this river is not just a backdrop to life here. It is the reason life is possible here at all.
The landscape opens up wide and generous from the riverbank. Two figures stand in the distance against a sky full of rolling white clouds, their silhouettes small against the vast sandy floodplain. Palm trees stretch to the horizon. The water reflects the sky in perfect silence. There is a peace here that city life cannot manufacture, a stillness that comes only from places where nature still sets the pace.
And yet the river is far from idle. Tucked along the water's edge, a fisherman wades waist-deep in the brownish current, his hands working through a carefully arranged net, pulling, adjusting, reading the water with the knowledge of someone who has done this since childhood. His dark clothes are soaked, his white cap unmoved. He is entirely focused. This is his office, his livelihood, his daily reality. Watching him work is a reminder that the Oueme is an economy as much as it is an ecosystem.
Nearby, a slender wooden dugout canoe rests beside a narrow channel thick with water lilies floating on the surface like green discs. The surrounding vegetation is lush, a tangle of grasses, shrubs, and climbing plants that crowd the water's edge. One of these plants caught my attention immediately: a vigorous creeping vine bearing small, bright green spiny fruits, likely a wild cucurbit species, wrapping itself through the surrounding vegetation with remarkable energy. These riverside plants are part of a rich biodiversity that most people never get to see, species adapted to the seasonal flooding and sandy soils that define the Oueme floodplain.
The river changes face from one bend to the next. In one spot it is wide and tranquil, holding the reflection of the clouds above. In another, driftwood lodged among the reeds marks the traces of past floods. Bamboo stakes planted by fishermen to anchor their nets create a subtle geometry across the water surface. A white bird glides low over the still water before disappearing into the reeds. Everything here has a purpose. Nothing is wasted.
Walking back across that dry, cracked laterite earth, I looked down at my sandals coated in red dust and felt genuinely grateful. Grateful for the access, for the trust of the people I met along the way, and for the reminder that Benin's most important resources are not locked in vaults. They flow through places like this, in rivers and root systems and riverside kitchens, in the hands of fishermen and in the quiet hum of a pot boiling at the edge of the Oueme.
This river is alive. And as long as we choose to protect it, it will continue to give
The river changes face from one bend to the next. In one spot it is wide and tranquil, holding the reflection of the clouds above. In another, driftwood lodged among the reeds marks the traces of past floods. Bamboo stakes planted by fishermen to anchor their nets create a subtle geometry across the water surface.
A white bird glides low over the still water before disappearing into the reeds. Everything here has a purpose. Nothing is wasted.
Perhaps the most striking image of this visit is the simplest one: a large clay pot sitting on three stones over a wood fire, right at the water's edge. In front of it, a spread of vivid red palm kernels drying in the sun.
Behind it, the calm brown water of the Oueme moving slowly past eroded sandy cliffs lined with trees. It is a scene that could have been photographed fifty years ago and looked exactly the same. Some things here do not change because they do not need to. The method works. The land provides. The people adapt.
Walking back across that dry, cracked laterite earth, I looked down at my sandals coated in red dust and felt genuinely grateful. Grateful for the access, for the trust of the people I met along the way, and for the reminder that Benin's most important resources are not locked in vaults.
.
They flow through places like this, in rivers and root systems and riverside kitchens, in the hands of fishermen and in the quiet hum of a pot boiling at the edge of the Oueme.
This river is alive. And as long as we choose to protect it, it will continue to give.
Field visit to the Oueme River, commune of Ouinhi, Tohoues district, Republic of Benin
